Soul On Fire
by Kirmon64
Summary: One has to wonder why exactly Bonecrusher attacked a mech larger and far stronger than himself. Was it just hatred? Or something more...?


Bonecrusher doesn't get enough love, methinks. Although as to whether or not this counts as 'love' is questionable...

Inspired by "Soul on Fire", by HIM. Which is a band, not an author XD

**Rated (T) For:** Nothing in particular, really... just kind of seems like that's the rating it deserves.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own. If I did, do ya really think poor Bonecrusher would have died in the movie? Yeah. I think not.

* * *

It hurt.

Every moment, of every orn, of every vorn. There was an excruciating pain, deep in his Spark, that wouldn't go away. Could never go away. Ever. It was impossible. Beyond impossible.

And Bonecrusher didn't want it to go away.

It reminded him of why he hated so much. It reminded him of what he'd lost. And he'd lost so much. Five things. Only five. But they were his world. His everything.

His _soul_.

Scrapper. Hook. Mixmaster. Scavenger. Long Haul. They were his bondmates.

And they were dead.

Nothing could bring them back. Not even the Allspark. Nothing was left of them except faded memories and a few scraps of armor that he'd managed to keep with him over the millennia. By all rights, Bonecrusher should have died with them. It was a fact that bondmates could not survive if the other - or others - died. An unalterable fact, a constant of the universe.

And yet he'd lived.

Oh, it had taken him several vorns to become anything less than a gibbering, paranoid lunatic. But he lived. He cursed the Autobots every day. They were the ones that had killed his mates. _Murdered_ them. It could have been understandable if the Constructicons had been Decepticons. But they were Neutrals - leaning towards the _Autobot_ side - and the Autobots had _killed them_. They had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the Autobots hadn't been careful enough in an area that was known to have Neutral residents...

He'd never found out what the fight had been over, and he never wanted to. He didn't care. Even if it was over something important, he never would have been able to forgive them. So he joined the Decepticons, and made it his personal mission to offline as many of them as possible. He didn't care about the war. Not at all. He never had. But now even less so, because -

Because today was the day he was going to die.

He was not morbid like some. Not at all. But he couldn't go on anymore. He missed them far too much. Scrapper's quiet strength. Hook's biting sarcasm. Mixmaster's insane genius. Scavenger's irrepressible enthusiasm. And Long Haul, the one who was practically his mirror image. They were a part of him, all of them, and it was like - like five large pieces of his Spark had been ripped out.

Maybe... maybe now, those five pieces would rejoin his.

Starscream's summons had interrupted his musings, and in a sort of trance he'd responded and was now flanking Brawl - not Devastator, how _dare_ he try to take that name - as they barreled down the highway towards the Autobots. At any other time he would have maimed Brawl beyond recognition for using that name, and the tank certainly seemed to realize this because he was unobtrusively trying to get away from him - but right now - right now there were more important things -

A sort of gentle pushing at the edge of his muddled mind made him speed up, and, though he felt no urge to really try to fight the Prime, he transformed and launched himself forward at greater speeds than he could achieve in his Earth-based altmode. Vehicles were shoved out of the way left and right; Barricade and Brawl had long since dropped behind, having realized that he was on a suicide mission. It was as though he was simply observing as he tackled Prime, not even considering pulling out his close range weaponry.

They tussled for a few moments before the Autobot managed to gain the upper hand and they tumbled off the highway, away from the little flesh-creatures; there was a flare of pain as his optic was offlined, yanked right out of its socket. But the pain was dulled, because he didn't care about it... all he was really concentrating on was that strange whispering in his audios. He couldn't make out the words, but the voices were familiar. Even after millions of years.

Vaguely, he saw himself snapping at the Prime, trying to inflict some form of damage, but he was certainly no match for the much stronger mech and found himself held in an inescapable grip, one intact optic staring down at the dirty ground...

_'I'm coming, my mates...'_

Optimus Prime plunged his sword downwards and Bonecrusher felt a white-hot flash of pain - oh Primus the _pain_ - as it pierced his neck, energon spilling onto the asphalt below -

And with a whispered 'thank you' to his killer, the Spark of the last of the Constructicons went out.


End file.
